Novasenna
by Lady Viola Delesseps
Summary: Sequel to "Tales from the Tower". Nova Barton, on a quest for the truth, is drawn into a war between worlds. A devious master, a god mad with grief at his love's death, the forces of SHEILD and an entire alien army at his command... With only the help of a girl named Emma Stacey - the only person he trusts - will he triumph? Or will he repeat the evil deeds of his unknown father?
1. Waverly, Iowa, 2030

Chapter 1

Waverly, Iowa, 2030

**"You call a star a star, and say it is just a ball of matter moving on a mathematical course. But that is merely how you see it. By so naming things and describing them you are only inventing your own terms about them. And just as speech is invention about objects and ideas, so myth is invention about truth." **

**-Humphrey Carpenter, _J.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography_**

The room looked pretty good in the pitch blackness, but once the light was switched on, it looked pretty bad. _Okay, about average_, the young man told himself, as he entered the room and flopped onto the bed. It wasn't that messy... there was a small pile of random laundry keeping the closet door from closing, the blinds were askew, and his bed was rumpled. That was it. You could see the floor – a good deal of it, and even though random shelving covered with every kind of book and knick knack imaginable lined the walls, considering some of the rooms of his friends, the young man amended his verdict to _pretty good_ as he opened the book he pulled from his backpack and perused the title page.

He flipped past the copyright and author's note and let his green eyes fall upon the opening stanzas of the poem. Suddenly a voice was heard calling up the stairs: "Nova! Nova, is that you?"

"Right, mom!" he called back. "I'm up here!"

Footsteps climbed the wooden stairs and a pleasant-faced blonde-haired woman poked her head through the door. "I didn't hear you come in." Cindy Barton smiled at her son.

Nova shrugged, flipping a long lock of dark hair out of his face. "I guess I'm quiet."

"How did it go?" She sat on the edge of the bed as he set his book aside, tucking his legs under him and sitting up. He looked away from her. She pursed her lips, beginning, "Now, you can't say that, this was your first day –"

"I don't like it."

"What did they do?"

"They asked me lots of weird questions..." he trailed off. "Speech therapy was bad enough, but this – Mom, school psychologists are nut-cases themselves, I mean it!"

Sympathy flashed through her mild gray eyes, and she said, "Well, you know what your dad thinks. We ought to stick with it at least for a month and see if there's any improvements."  
"Improvements in what?" he shot back. Nova was getting sulky. He threw himself back on the pillows and changed the subject. "I stayed a little late in the study hall and finished all my homework."

Cindy smiled. "You're allowed to do homework at _home_, you know..."

Nova furrowed his brow. "It's easy enough that I'd just rather do it there and do something else when I get home. I want to read for a while."

"Are you hungry?"

He considered for a moment, and then said, "I'll likely come down later." He cleared his throat and tried to rephrase it according to the tips his speech therapist had given him. "Maybe later."

All his life he had been made fun of, both for his voice which had a strange tone to it, and his manner of speaking. It had a very different modulation than most Iowans. People asked him all his life where he was from, and always looked surprised when he answered, "Around here." His love for classical literature and his revulsion of slang terms only added to the Shakespearean aspect.

Even while he was being sent to both speech therapy for his voice and psychological therapy for negative behaviors, Nova's mom teased him he was the kind of guy the girls would like. His hair was long and dark – his dad, Ed Barton, hated it but his mom secretly encouraged him- his voice was unusual, and his temperament secretive and brooding. But Nova had never met a girl who expressed an interest in him at all. For the most part he felt much the same way about them. Even at seventeen years of age, he was avoided as a weirdo at his school. He tended to keep to himself and practice sleights of hand and memorize the terminology of the ancients.

"Well, if you get hungry, let me know. Dad has to work late tonight, and I am going to run an errand, but I'll be back soon."

"Alright, then," he answered, and his mom smiled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. He caught her hands in a swift move and kissed the underside of each wrist.

"Mama's boy," she teased.

"Perhaps." He grimaced, and waved her away. "I want to read."

As his mom left the room, Nova pulled the book out from under his pillow and re-opened to the beginning pages, reading:

_ "Ægir, who was also called Gymir, had prepared ale for the gods, after he had got the mighty kettle, as now has been told. To this feast came Othin and Frigg, his wife. Thor came not, as he was on a journey in the East. Sif, __Thor's wife, was there, and Brag, with Ithun, his wife. Tyr, who had but one hand, was there; the wolf Fenrir had bitten off his other hand when they had bound him. There were Njorth and Skathi his wife, Freyr and Freyja, and Vithar, the son of Othin. Loki was there, and Freyr's__servants Byggvir and Beyla. Many were there of the gods and elves._

_ "Ægir had two serving-men, Fimafeng and Eldir. Glittering gold they had in place of firelight; the ale came in of itself; and great was the peace. The guests praised much the ability of Ægir's serving-men. Loki might not endure that, and he slew Fimafeng. Then the gods shook their shields and howled at Loki and drove him away to the forest, and thereafter set to drinking again. Loki turned back, and outside he met Eldir. Loki spoke to him:_

_1. "Speak now, Eldir, | for not one step  
Farther shalt thou fare;  
What ale-talk here | do they have within,  
The sons of the glorious gods?"_

_Eldir spake:  
2. "Of their weapons they talk, | and their might in war,  
The sons of the glorious gods;  
From the gods and elves | who are gathered here  
No friend in words shalt thou find."_

_Loki spake:  
3. "In shall I go | into Ægir's hall,  
For the feast I fain would see;_

_Bale and hatred | I bring to the gods,  
And their mead with venom I mix."_

_Eldir spake:  
4. "If in thou goest | to Ægir's hall,  
And fain the feast wouldst see,  
And with slander and spite | wouldst sprinkle the gods,  
Think well lest they wipe it on thee."_

_Loki spake:  
5. "Bethink thee, Eldir, | if thou and I  
Shall strive with spiteful speech;  
Richer I grow | in ready words  
If thou speakest too much to me."_

Nova was oblivious of the passing time as he turned page after page, absorbing the ancient words that lifted themselves right off the page and became real in his vivid imagination. Norse mythology had long been a love of his, but for some reason he kept it a secret from his schoolmates, even from his parents. Something within him told him that it was not for everyone, and he had seen how something precious became household banter if it once became popular, and he hated the idea of these tales being tossed around by the kind of people at his school...

_"Then Loki went into the hall, but when they who were there saw who had entered, they were all silent._

_Loki spake:  
6. "Thirsty I come | into this thine hall,  
I, Lopt, from a journey long,  
To ask of the gods | that one should give  
Fair mead for a drink to me._

_7. "Why sit ye silent, | swollen with pride,  
Ye gods, and no answer give?_

_At your feast a place | and a seat prepare me,  
Or bid me forth to fare."_

_Bragi spake:  
8. "A place and a seat | will the gods prepare  
No more in their midst for thee;  
For the gods know well | what men they wish  
To find at their mighty feasts."_

_Loki spake:  
9. "Remember, Othin, | in olden days  
That we both our blood have mixed;  
Then didst thou promise | no ale to pour,  
Unless it were brought for us both."_

_Othin spake:  
10. "Stand forth then, Vithar, | and let the wolf's father  
Find a seat at our feast;"_

Nova's eyes burned, but he kept reading, his breathing coming quicker as he heard footsteps in the hallway. He shut his eyes. No.. no – not now, he was in the middle of –

"Nova?" It was his father's voice. "What are you doing with the light on? It's two o'clock, son."

"I'm studying," Nova lied easily. That was one of the concerns that had gotten him landed in psychological therapy – lies seemed to literally roll off his tongue without effort. "Don't worry, I'm almost done."

Then he heard a hand on the doorknob and he did something he had secretly been practicing – he twitched his fingers and the light went out without him even touching it, and then, shutting his eyes, willed himself to disappear. It worked once at school when he saw a group of boys headed his way with dirty looks, and he had been branded a sorcerer for a month. That was the beginning of the psychological therapy, because his family knew he was prone to lying. But it was the truth. He had vanished, and appeared on the other side of the school yard. He had been secretly practicing ever since.

This time, however, there was a flash on the insides of his eyelids and he found himself in the floor, his head spinning. He hurriedly picked himself up just as his dad stuck his head into the room. Ed Barton had grey hair cut short, and he disapproved of boys who needed haircuts. But Nova thought he he was probably a pretty good dad other than that.

"I really am almost done," Nova said.

"I should think so..." Ed muttered, closing the door and shuffling off down he hallway, leaving Nova alone. He climbed gingerly back on the bed and resumed his reading. Pale pink light had begun to tinge the eastern sky by the time he turned to the last page of the book.

"_Loki spake:  
64. "'1 have said to the gods | and the sons of the god,  
The things that whetted my thoughts;  
But before thee alone | do I now go forth,  
For thou fightest well, I ween._

_65. "Ale hast thou brewed, | but, Ægir, now  
Such feasts shalt thou make no more;  
O'er all that thou hast | which is here within  
Shall play the flickering flames,  
(And thy back shall be burnt with fire.)"_

_ "And after that Loki hid himself in Franang's waterfall in the guise of a salmon, and there the gods took him. He was bound with the bowels of his son Vali, but his son Narfi was changed to a wolf. Skathi took a poison-snake and fastened it up over Loki's face, and the poison dropped thereon. Sigyn, Loki's wife, sat there and held a shell under the poison, but when the shell was full she bore away the poison, and meanwhile the poison dropped on Loki. Then he struggled so hard that the whole earth shook therewith; and now that is called an earthquake."_


	2. A Matter of Function

Chapter 2

A Matter of Function

**"Be silent!" shrieked the beldame.**

**"I won't! Because, you see, if we are in for the horrible, I can beat you hollow at that!"**

**-E.D.E.N Southworth**

Nova shut the book with satisfaction, and squeezed his tired eyes shut, grateful that it was Saturday, and there would be no school. For a brief moment he hovered in that fanciful state between alert and oblivious, and then he plunged into sleep, unaware of the sounds of the waking household, or the bright rays of sunlight that reached into his room and glanced off his slumbering features.

There was a reason Nova hated to go to sleep at night. As a child, he had rebelled against bedtime, and his parents assumed that it was because his active mind hated to miss anything that might be going on in the world while he slept. They were right in attributing it to his active mind, but they never understood all. At night, in his subconscious state, Nova's mind played tricks on him, and he was assaulted by dreams and nightmares. The caused him to thrash around, break into sweat and cry out in terror. The Bartons knew their young son suffered from bad dreams and restless nights, and Cindy would always run in and comfort his sobbing in the wee hours of the dark, even though Ed assured her he would grow out of it if only she would stop encouraging him.

But they did not know how many nights, even now, Nova lay awake in the blackness, his chest heaving, his pale hands clenched while his gaze darted about trying to prove to himself that it was not real, but an illusion. His eyes would glitter with unshed tears in the moonlight, and then he would throw himself onto his face and bite the sheets until exhaustion overtook him. This was yet another box to check in his list of problems. Reading all night was a welcome relief; the nightmares seemed to be banished by daylight playing on his closed eyelids.

A rapping on Nova's door snatched him from his slumbers. He rubbed his smarting eyes and forced his bleary gaze to focus, clearing his throat and mastering its tone.

"Yes?"

He sounded like he'd been wide awake for hours. Nova suppressed a grin at his abilities.

"Are you alright? Can I come in?"

"Yes, and yes," he said, sitting up, and running his hands through his tangled hair.

The door cracked open to reveal Cindy, her light hair pulled back in a clip, and her clothes covered by a spattered apron. "Pancakes?"

"Of course," Nova grinned.

"Then come on down, don't forget you have another appointment with Dr. Gulge in an hour."

He had almost forgotten. _Doctor Gulge. _Nova wrinkled his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. The very sound of it reminded him of the words _gorge _and _bulge_ combined, none of which were very pleasant connotations. In reality, Dr. Gulge was a young, light-haired psychological therapist, and a lot less weird than the school counselor, Ms. Jones, as opposite as that sounded. He pulled out his most pleading look.

"But I didn't sleep at all last night – do I have to go? Can't it be postponed?"

"You didn't sleep at all, sweetie?" Cindy crossed her arms. "Why not?

Nova looked at his lap and shrugged. "You know..."

Cindy sighed, and then turned. "I've got to go flip those. Come on down, and we'll talk about it."

"Is Dad here?"

"No, he had to go meet someone for a business meeting."

Nova nodded, and picked himself up to follow his mother. As they descended the stairs, his hand lightly grazing the bannister, he said, "You know, as bad as it probably sounds to you, I feel I can talk much more freely when it is just us here."

"'You feel you can talk much more freely'?" Cindy smirked, and tussled his hair. "My medieval boy."

"As long as it's not _primeval_," Nova scowled. "You're beginning to be as bad as the rest."

He helped himself to a stack of pancakes hot off the griddle and demolished them in record time. Cindy was not surprised – no one she knew could eat faster than this boy.

"Starving?"

He shrugged. "They're good. As usual." He glanced at the clock, and, as his mom's back was turned, waved his hand and levitated his plate quickly into the sink and then released it, watching it disappear beneath the suds with a quiet gurgle.

"I've got to go," he said, taking the stairs two at a time and quickly pulling on his shoes and coat. It wasn't very cold out, but he always overdressed. A habit of his. As he passed the kitchen, Cindy called after him:

"Nova! Are you going to remember what we talked about?"

"Certainly," he called back. "And I'll make sure to come back with evidence that you most certainly are wasting your money."

Cindy shook her head as the door banged and watched the slender dark-haired boy streak across the front yard and then slow himself into a long-legged stride down the sidewalk toward the mid-town office of the Waverly Psychological Clinic.

For a moment the thought entered the mind of the young man to just take a brisk walk and then come home, saying everything went well, and retiring to his room to reread _Lokasenna_. However, he quickly banished it as he approached the small sloping walkway up to the office and set his jaw, shoving open the door and entering the place of his torment.

It was nearly and hour and a half later that a very pale, very strained-looking Nova burst out of the doors of the Waverly Psychological Clinic and stalked toward home. It was a walk of nearly nine blocks, but he made it in record time, and his eyes flashed with anger at his ill-luck when he sighted his dad's car parked in the driveway. The last person he wanted to talk to about his analysis...

Wishing more than ever that he could make himself invisible – really and truly, and not only for the time that could span a period of uninterrupted concentration – Nova slipped in through the door to the garage and entered the house as quietly as possible. His father's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"And it's got me really worried. I mean, for all I know, he could be –"

"Things are never as bad as they seem," Cindy's quiet voice interrupted. "He really tries."

"Trying is not enough," snapped Ed. "What does the officer do with the criminal, the drug addict that he's caught, and they say they tried?"

"Nova is not a criminal or a drug addict, Ed," Cindy said firmly. "He is a teenage boy, trying to find his way in the world."

"I'm telling you, there is something wrong with him."

"Something's wrong with all of us. It's just something different."

"He's _different_, that's for sure." Ed snorted. "He can't even get a girlfriend, I mean – "

"I, for one, am fine with that! He's got better things to do."

"Like what? Tell me – does anybody know what he does with his time? Anything about him, really? I'm not saying that this wasn't a good idea, because you know what I think about that, but sometimes I wonder if –"

"Don't even finish that sentence, Ed Barton," Cindy said, her voice low. Nova held his breath and listened for more. "You told me that it would all be over, that we would never look back, never second-guess –"

"That's before I knew it was a clearing house for the problem kids!" Ed whispered fiercely. "Clint told me that most of the time things were fine, but every once in a while things turned shady." He ignored Cindy's protests, and continued, "I'm beginning to think that something should be done. At least he should be told."

"Never." Cindy's voice was firm. "He is our son. And we accept him with whatever talents and troubles he has just as we would a child of our own."

Nova had heard enough. He grabbed haphazardly for the door handle, wrenching the door nosily open and then slamming it again, willing his voice to co-operate. It came out even and cool.

"Back, mom." He sailed into the room, and stopped short, in apparent shock at seeing his dad there. "Hello, dad," he murmured.

"How did it go?" Cindy began, reaching for her son to give him an embrace, but he shouldered his way past, calling over his shoulder:

"It went."

Momentarily they heard the door slam to his room. There was a brief pause, during which Ed and Cindy's gazes locked, and then Ed shouted up the stairs.

"Nova, you get down here and apologize to your mother. That is no way to answer her question!"

"But I did answer it, didn't I!" he shouted back.

Ed rose from his chair in anger, and stormed up the stairs, throwing the door open to his son's room and finding him standing, trembling, in the middle of the floor.

"I said, get down there –" he growled, grabbing Nova's chin and looking deep into his emerald eyes. Nova yanked his face away, his eyes glowing.

"How dare you –" he hissed, wincing when Ed made a grab for him again and caught his thin arm, squeezing it in a vice-like grip.

"You get down there, or I swear, I'll –"

"What?" Nova's eyes opened wide. It was just the distraction he needed. He moved the fingers of his hand almost imperceptibly, ignoring the tingle they began to feel from lack of circulation. "What will you do? Lock me up? Beat me within an inch of my life? Banish me? _Tell me that I'm not your son_?"

Ed's face flushed a bright red in anger and he made a grab for Nova's other arm once again, with the intent of shaking him and giving him a one-liner he would never forget. But to his unexplainable shock, his hand passed right through the illusion of the boy, and met nothing but air. And then even the illusion vanished.

Nova materialized out in the backyard, and the moment the dizzying sensation subsided, he took off running. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. He had to get away. Get away from that man, that man who had lied to him, who never understood him. He didn't even spare a thought for his mother – his loving mother – because it turns out, she was probably not his mother. He should have known. He should have known. All through the streets of Waverly, Iowa, Nova's thoughts raced, and his vision swam, trying to process it all. He was not their son. Who knew who he really was, who were his real parents. Where he belonged. Why he was the way he was. He had to know.

And then he reached the tracks. A chill wind whipped down the deserted railway, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheeks with the painful caress of coming winter. He didn't care; it didn't bother him. For a moment he contemplated throwing himself down on the tracks and praying for a freighter to come, one carrying something like coal or cattle that would crush him and end his misery in oblivion and obscurity. But his mind, wild with thoughts scrambling about and scratching and trampling each other like cats in a bag, would not let him do such a thing. He had to know. And the only person he could think of that would help him was his uncle Clint. Clint Barton.

_New York City. _A train did come, but it was headed west on the tracks and going much too quickly, so he hid himself in the dead scrub by the wayside, and watched in anticipation for the next one. He did not have to wait long. And luck was on his side – for once, he thought wryly – for this train was a slow cavalcade of open boxcars – headed east. He had no trouble running alongside and clambering aboard one, hauling on the heavy door, and finally thinking better of it. Nova curled up against the back wall of the car and tucked his knees up to his chest, his eyes refusing to let fall the multitude of tears that beaded against his dark lashes. His heart continued to pound wildly in within breast long into he night.

And then he remembered the book. He had forgotten to return it to the library.


	3. Novasenna

Chapter 3

_Novasenna_

**"He hath need of his wits who wanders wide."**

**-Old Norse Proverb**

_ The Flight of Nova_, was the first thought that presented itself in his head as he was jolted awake by a terrible screeching and quickly recalled where he was, and more slowly, why he was there. His father – _that man_, he corrected – had grabbed him, hurt him, his dignity more than his body. His parents – _those people_ – were liars and deceivers. He had no family, no past, and his only future lay in finding Clint Barton, his mysterious and secretive uncle, and begging him for the truth. No, he would not beg. He would demand. But somehow, Nova felt that Clint knew. He was one of the only people aside from his mother whom he trusted, whom he sensed really cared for him. But his mother wasn't his mother. If she had lied to him about the most basic of human origins, what else had she lied about? Maybe none of it was real, not even the love she professed to have for him. That is what hurt most of all.

He was recalled to the current dilemma of the stopping train by another deafening screech and jolt that jarred his very bones. He had given little thought to what he would do if he were discovered, but he had no doubts in his abilities to talk himself out of whatever mishaps may arise. And then there was magic. Nova resisted the urge to gloat in his abilities. They were, after all, literally all he had now.

* * *

Seventeen years ago by earthly reckoning, high up in realms eternal, through cloud and fog, through water and sky, a bright sun shone on the high peaks and glittering spires of Asgard, land of the Aesir and home of those beings the Norse called gods and goddesses.

Odin rose at the cries heard in the corridor outside his chamber, and flung open the heavy door.

"What is the meaning of this clamor?" he demanded, seeing the Warriors Three arguing with each other, and with Frigga, his wife. "How is it you do not respect the wishes of your queen?" His one eye was threatening as he glared at his best warriors, and took in the sight of Frigga's pale face.

"I tell you, I saw it with my own eyes," Volstagg insisted, stopping short as the queen held up a hand and approached her husband. He enfolded her in a brief embrace against his armored chest, and then held her at arms' length.

"What is this about?"

"We all saw it –" Fandral put in, but then bit the inside of his lip, drawing blood as Frigga's voice interrupted:

"The Warriors Three say that Valhalla has released another soul. It could be seen from the palaces, they say, and they were deciding whether or not to go to Heimdall and inquire what was the meaning of this..." She trailed off.

"So – Valhalla has released another soul. Is that such an unusual thing?" Odin prepared to dismiss his warriors as a pack of blithering fools, but his wife's face held his uneven gaze.

"It has not been sent to any hall in this realm," Frigga said softly. "It has made its way to Midgard."

Odin took a step backwards. "What?"

Frigga nodded, and bowed her head. "What I speak is true, my lord. The Warriors didn't wish to trouble you, but were going to take their suspicions to Heimdall. However –" she broke off.

"Volstagg talks too loudly," Fandral explained.

Odin ignored their banter as Frigga's eyes took on a far-off look.

"It is an heir – one with the blood of the Aesir," she whispered.

"But why on Midgard?" Odin asked in a low voice. "The mortal that Thor loved is far away from him, and they have unfinished business with Loki that would besides prevent all else."

Frigga shook her head. "We must speak to Heimdall."

Before anyone could utter another word, a contingent of messengers rounded the corner, bowing before the Allfather and his queen.

"Rise, and speak," Odin commanded. "Has Heimdall come?"  
"No, my lord." One of the messengers looked up, fear gleaming in his eyes. "It is Laufey, and a group of Jotun warriors."

"Come they in peace?"

"I know not, but Laufey would have words with you." The messenger bowed again. "They are waiting in the antechamber of the throne room."

"Very well. Since no one regards my wishes anymore, let them come to me..." Odin glared. "Let them come to me _here_. See that they are stripped of all their weapons, and allow only Laufey to approach. Hold the others in the antechamber."

He felt the light hand of his wife on his arm and looked down to see her face pale.

"Do I have your permission to retire, my lord?"

Odin nodded. "Very well."

The Warriors Three looked at each other and shuffled until Odin exclaimed, "Make yourselves of use, or be gone!"

"Do you wish us to remain?" Volstagg inquired, as a sudden icy coldness pervaded the room.

"I have told Laufey to come without his men; it would be in poor form to keep you here with me." Odin rubbed a hand down his beard. "But stay within earshot, should there be foul play. Send for the Lady Sif as well."

The Warriors Three bowed and retreated around the corner of the corridor just as the King of the Frost Giants appeared and began his slow powerful stride toward the Asgardian ruler. Odin drew himself up majestically and waited, motionless, until they stood face to face.

"I see promises are but idle words to you, Laufey," Odin began, locking eyes with the cruel red gaze of the Jotun. "I was laboring under the delusion that we were never to accost each other in our own realms."

"I do not come with hostile purposes," the low measured voice of the Frost Giant came on a breath of freezing vapor. "Even in Jotunheim we could see the event which has made the great Heimdall marvel."

Odin narrowed his good eye. "And you have come all this way to discuss with me a matter which does not concern you?"

Laufey broke into a slow sinister smile. "But it does, Asgardian."

"Speak." Odin's temper was growing short. "Valhalla has released the soul of one of our own – my wife has the gift of foresight and speaks the truth of the future as if it already were."

"Do not speak to me of your wife, Allfather," Laufey hissed. "You forget I knew her well."

Odin's hands clenched, but he kept them by his sides. "No more of this. You forget also, the battles and truces that have come between us since then."

"Do I?" Laufey inclined his head. "I think not."

Odin spoke through his teeth, "My wife says the soul which Valhalla released has the blood of the Aesir. This is no concern of yours, and you would do well to take your warriors and begone from my realm."

Laufey countered this with aggression suppressed in his guttural voice. "The soul Valhalla released has made its way to Midgard, O wise one."

"I know this."

"And in its veins runs also the blood of the Jotuns."

Odin froze. "Is this true?"

"Your wife will tell you that it is."

Odin shut his eye and when he opened it again, his gaze was hard and fierce. "This does not change my command. Take your warriors, and begone from my realm." Odin knew that the Warriors Three and Lady Sif would be hanging on their every word just out of sight beyond the turn in the hall, ready to come to the aid of their king. Yet he did not wish for relations to be fouled again between Asgard and Jotunheim. "Take them, and go."

"I will do as you command, Allfather, but do not forget that if this proves to be an heir of the Aesir, Jotunheim will lay an equal, if not greater claim on his blood." Laufey smiled again, the creases in his blue-tinted face growing deeper to the point of grotesque. "You are not the only one who will one day need a successor to rule your realm."

And he turned his back, taking long powerful strides away from Odin who stood majestic and motionless in the corridor, taking with him the eddying crosscurrent of winter air and the scent of cold metal.

* * *

Nova looked about him. The buildings seemed to grow taller and taller as he ventured further into the heart of New York City. He knew he probably looked like a member of some sort of gang that considered hair length a sign of your rank, or at the very least, a homeless vagrant. He had been sleeping under overpasses and hitchhiking his way toward N.Y.C. for the past twelve days ever since the train stopped somewhere in Ohio. Two days ago a couple traveling in a motorhome with plans of hiking the Appalachian Trail had run across him in a MacDonalds and taken him nearly to the city limits after buying him a hamburger and a milkshake. But he had no food since then, and almost didn't notice now that he was actually in the city, and so close to finding Clint Barton.

He thought it should be pretty easy – after all, there was the tower that said STARK on the side in big white letters – that was where he said he worked and lived, and after that, told a ten-year-old Nova that he couldn't tell him anything else, or anybody, for that matter. The sun was beginning to set so Nova figured that he couldn't very well go knocking on the door of Stark Tower at twilight looking like he did, so he sat on the edge of a raised flower bed that had become a monkey-grass habitat sometime in the last six months, and looked about him. After conjuring up and vetoing several ideas, Nova decided on a plan and set it into action.

Across the street was a restaurant that proclaimed it to be "Schwarma Palace." Nova smoothed his hair and entered, introducing himself as Nova Barton, a student here for a school project, and looking for extra work. He put on his best smile, and was glad when the lady in an apron began to shout in Greek to someone in the back, and then nodded, beckoning him to follow her, and gestured toward an enormous mountain of dishes. Nova pushed up his sleeves, and got to work.

Three hours and thirty dollars later, he left with the intent of finding a place to take a shower and get some rest. The streets were dark, and he resisted the urge to be spooked by the amount of shadowy traffic on the streets of Manhattan at night. He had heard that cheap hotels would rent rooms for thirty dollars a night. He didn't account for the fact that was back in Waverly... After being repulsed at every turn and even threatened with the NYPD, Nova found himself crouching in an alleyway and watching for a guest to enter at a side door of a Comfort Inn, hoping that he could slip in and use the pool shower or something. He sighted an open window several stories up, but dismissed that idea almost immediately.

It had to be nearing midnight when Nova gave in, not seeing any activity in the room, and climbed the fire escape, dropping through the open window like a thief, and quickly scanning the chamber. No inhabitants. With any luck, he could snatch a few hours sleep and be gone before morning housekeeping came. Nova intended to take a shower but found his need for sleep overcoming his desire to be clean, and so he dragged a comforters from one of the beds and flopped down beneath the open window, slumber, and haunting dreams overtaking him within moments.

* * *

Emma Stacey replaced the lens cover on her camera as she finally realized it was growing too dark for any more pictures, and stowed it in her backpack, setting her tracks for her hotel. Reaching in her pocket and grabbing her phone, the girl dialed her grandma's number, and started walking as she waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, grandma," Emma said brightly. "Just thought I'd give you a call. How are you?"

"Lots better now that I've heard from you," Emma's grandma said on the other end of the line. "What are you up to? Did your flight go well?"

"Great. I got checked into my hotel first thing, and then decided to take a walk and stretch my legs." She grinned. "And I took some pictures."

Emma's grandma chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Is the weather nice?"

"The same as where you are, only more... city," she said. "Right now I'm airing out my hotel room, it smelled like tuna when I checked in."

"How's this all-on-my-own thing working for you, Em?" her grandma teased. "Ready to come home yet?"

Emma shook her head, her thick blonde hair falling into her eyes as she did so. "No way. I gotta go, call you in a couple of days, okay?"

"Okay, be safe, have fun," Grandma remonstrated. Emma rolled her eyes.

"I will – okay – bye."

It took her much longer than she thought to get back to her hotel, and Emma's feet were very sore. She stopped at a restaurant and bought and ate some late dinner, arriving at her hotel a little past midnight.


	4. Just Emma

Chapter 4

Just Emma

Emma blinked in the pitch blackness of her hotel room as she shut the door behind her. The only light came from the city beyond her open window, and tossing her backpack on the bed, she groped her way over to the window to shut it and prepare for sleep. Just as she was reaching for the sash, her foot came down on something, and she jumped back, repressing a scream as a figure rose from the floor. It cowered against the wall.

"Wh- wha – who are you?" she demanded, backing up against the door and preparing to make a break for it if necessary. The figure seemed equally terrified, and what was more, he seemed to have been startled from sleep.

"I – I'm sorry," he stammered, straightening slowly, his slim form silhouetted against the city's twinkling backdrop. "I didn't know that someone –"

"What are you doing here?" Emma whispered, her hand on the latch, wishing that her phone weren't so far away... in her backpack... on the bed...

"Sleeping," the figure admitted. "But I promise I don't mean any harm, and I'll leave if you want."

"Yes," Emma said, her voice thin. "This is my room."

"I know. I mean, I thought it was somebody's, but I just didn't think they would be coming... back..." The voice, strange on the darkness, came back to her and sent a curious feeling skittering down her spine. Emma reached for the switch and flipped the light on. The bright light glared down onto the intruder – a dark-haired teenager in a dirty sweatshirt and jeans. He shielded his face with his arms and as his eyes gradually adjusted to the light, he peered out to see a girl with thick blonde hair in a ponytail regarding him very strangely.

"What's your name?" she asked slowly. "And how did you get in here, anyway?"

The boy, lowering his arms to reveal his face, crumpled with interrupted sleep, and his hair, dark and lank, inclined his head back toward the open window.

"Seriously? You climbed up here?" Emma crossed her arms.

The boy lifted his hands suppliantly. "I needed somewhere to sleep."

"You still didn't tell me your name."

"It's Nova."

Emma squinted. "Nova what?"

"None of your business. Just Nova, for now." The boy's face hardened, and he looked around him quickly, hearing footsteps in the corridor outside. "Are you alone here?"

"None of your business," Emma mimicked. "Where are you from? Your accent is very interesting."

Nova scowled. "Nowhere. It's not an accent, it's just my voice."

They stood in awkward silence for a while, the only sounds in the room being the whiz of traffic below them, the occasional slam of a door somewhere else on their floor, and the annoying dripping of the water in the bathroom. Nova silently picked up the pallet he had made on the floor, and folded the blankets tidily on the end of the nearer bed.

"I guess... I'll be going now," Nova said, smiling briefly. "Unless... you'd let me use the shower?"

Emma looked surprised. "Why would I do that?"

"You didn't call the police," muttered Nova. "You seem nice enough."

"Nova – do you live around here?" Emma squinted as a no-nonsense look crept into her face. The dark-haired vagrant stared her right back and then finally looked away, shuffling his feet and murmuring, "No."

"Do you live somewhere at all?"

Nova shrugged. "Not right now."

Emma thought for a moment, and then she sighed. "Alright, be my guest. But I'm putting my grandma on the phone so don't do anything creepy."

Nova nodded, a hind of a smile creeping up around the corners of his mouth. He pulled off his hoodie and left it lying on the bed, and then and he hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and proceeding turn on the hot water and strip off the rest of his clothing.

Meanwhile, Emma took a deep breath and unzipped her backpack, dumping everything out on her bed: camera, folder of school stuff, wallet, composition book, six pens and two pencils... finally – phone. She began to put things away as she speeddialed her grandma. The sixth ring was interrupted with a groggy voice on the other end.

"Em? What's going on?"

"Uh – sorry grandma, I know it's late –" Emma began.

"Early, rather." There was rustling on the other end, and then her grandma repeated, "What's going on?"

"Oh-? Oh! Nothing, just... felt like giving you a call..." Emma said, wondering what would happen if the widow of the chief of police were told that her granddaughter was letting a homeless teenager use her shower in a hotel in Manhattan.

There was a long silence, and then her grandma rasped, "Are you crazy? It's almost two o'clock in the morning."

"I thought you already knew I was crazy," Emma joked, trying to keep her voice within normal teasing range and not sound too desperate.

Her grandma wasn't buying it. "Are you sure something's not wrong?"

"Wrong? Oh, no." Emma walked across the room and shut the window just as she heard the shower water turn off, and she hurried on. "I just – there's some crazy people here at my hotel and they woke me up and I just wanted to... you know... stay on with you for a while," she finished sheepishly.

"Are they bothering you?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "No, grandma. Just wanted to chat for a while because – " Just then the door cracked open and Nova stuck his wet head out. Emma pretended not to see him and turned her head so that he would see she was still on the phone. "Because..." She drug her gaze to where the dripping teenager was gesturing as he pointed to his sweatshirt on the bed.

Emma picked it up and brought it to Nova, their eyes meeting as she handed it to him. "Because I just got a little homesick and wanted to hear your voice for a while. Tell me about what grandpa used to do when he would come home from work and Uncle Jason would ask him what he did that day."

"Em, if nothing's wrong, I would like to go back to sleep," chuckled the voice on the other end.

Nova emerged in a moment clad in his jeans and hoodie, zipped up to his chin, holding his wrinkled tshirt and shoes. He sat in the floor to replace them and Emma sat down on the bed.

"Okay then, never mind. Sorry for bugging you. Bye, grandma."

"Bye, sweetheart," her grandma's confused, sleepy voice returned.

Emma hung up and watched as Nova got to his feet. "Feel better?"

Nova crossed his arms. "Do you think I'm a criminal or something?"

"Better not to take my chances."

Nova realized she had a point and his face must have looked comical, because Emma burst out laughing. Hesitantly, Nova joined her.

"Thanks, really," he said when their gaiety subsided. "Not everyone would be as nice as you're being."

"You're obviously in trouble. I just hope I'm not doing anything illegal by helping you." Emma replied, pulling the hairtie from her ponytail and shaking her hair free.

"I ran away," Nova murmured. "I know where I'm headed though. I have an uncle here. I just can't see him until tomorrow."

Emma listened for more, but there wasn't any. "I'm here for school and for fun – to get out a little on my own. There's a scholarship I'm trying for, but I wanted to photograph the city too."

Nova looked interested. "Do you have have a good camera?"

Emma pointed to the specimen sitting on the dresser. "It's nice, but old. It was my dad's."

Nova inspected it, his hands behind his back. "Was your dad into photography?"

A funny look crossed Emma's face and she shrugged. "I guess. I never knew him."

"Same here," Nova murmured. He could feel the cold trickles of water dripping from his hair down his neck and went into the bathroom, grabbing the towel and rubbing his head vigorously. He brought it with him back out into the room.

"Here's the towel I used. There's still two clean ones in there for you." He stood silent for a minute, and then said, "I suppose I should be going." His feet remained rooted to the spot.

"Didn't you say you have to see your uncle in the morning?" Emma queried.

"Yes, but –"

"You'd better get some sleep, then, first." Emma pointed to the second bed. Nova stared.

"You would let me?"

Emma nodded, knowing this was crazy, but feeling sorry for the teen. "Just don't bug me. You don't snore, do you?"

Nova grinned. "Not that I know of. But I have never stayed awake long enough to find out."

"'Kay. I'm gonna get wash up and change and get some sleep. Do you need an alarm set?"

Nova shook his head. "I'll wake up."

"Alright. Night." And with that, Emma – just Emma, as far as he knew – grabbed a pair of pajamas from her bag and her toothbrush and disappeared in the bathroom, turning off all the lights except the small lamp while she was at it. As soon as he heard the water running, Nova pulled off his shoes and socks and clambered into the bed by the window, furtively unzipping his hoodie and pushing it off into the floor. Then he slid down between the sheets, pulling the comforter up over his narrow chest and was asleep before Emma even came out of the bathroom.

The nightlife of New York City continued below them on the streets, and Emma lay awake for several hours listening to the breathing of the stranger in the bed next to hers, and fell into a doze just as the sun began to peep between the silver silhouettes of the skyscrapers.


End file.
